


Invisible Lover

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Other people, she knew, talked to themselves. They might even have names, faces for the imaginary people they sought advice from. She suspected, however, that very few of them fucked themselves – at least not this way, not with eyes closed and fingers obeying the instructions of a girl who existed only in her head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible Lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeiouna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeiouna/gifts).



“Move your fingers down,” the voice in Sara’s mind suggested, and she obeyed, her hand moving through the dark curls until her fingers rested lightly between her legs. “A little more. Good girl. Now stay like that…”

Her hips twitched, wanting to press up against her hand, wanting to rub and pinch and press her fingers lightly inside. But Sara kept her eyes closed tightly, and the face behind her eyelids – the girl who existed only in Sara’s mind – shook her head lightly, gently forbidding.

“Good girl, Sara, you’re a good girl,” she soothed. “Now I want your other hand on your breasts, right nipple first I think…”

Other people, she knew, talked to themselves. They might even have names, faces for the imaginary people they sought advice from. She suspected, however, that very few of them fucked themselves – at least not this way, not with eyes closed and fingers obeying the instructions of a girl who existed only in her head.

She had never been the type of girl to play with herself. Nice girls didn’t, her mother had been very clear on that, and her attempts to do so had been awkward, uncomfortable, fraught with the feeling that she was somehow misbehaving and in a moment someone would catch her.

It made it easier if she could tell herself that really, she was only doing as she was told. Really, someone – _Amy –_ had given her permission, was telling her how she should and shouldn’t touch herself. And if Amy’s bright red hair – curled in perfect ringlets, the type that never looked so neat in real life – and light blue eyes existed only in Sara’s head, well, that made very little difference.

She tweaked lightly at her nipple, and squirmed against the fingers still resting between her legs. ‘Amy’ told her to wait, counselled patience until her breath was coming in short, desperate pants, smiled and enjoyed Sara’s increasing desperation.

It wasn’t the only way she played with Amy of course. Over time she’d discovered an increasing number of ways to convince her reluctant mind that there was someone in the room with her, someone who might take responsibility for the actions Sara was not yet prepared to admit she enjoyed. Blindfolds could work better than simply closing your eyes if you had time to use them – thick velvety cloth obscuring any temptation to peek. Vibrators could be set to work remotely – she had considered trying to set one so the speeds were entirely random, so that she could truly convince herself that the control was in someone else’s hands. The internet had not been forthcoming with such a setting however, and the thought of asking someone else to customise it made Sara blush down to her toes.

Other things were a matter of experimentation. Hot wax worked as well dripped on nipples and skin whether or not you could see it, as long as you lit the candle before you robbed yourself of vision. That had been interesting – Amy’s pretty face had been set in a scolding frown in Sara’s mind for some imagined misdeed. She had purposely made it go on slightly longer than she would have wanted, a few more drips than she might have chosen had she been doing it of her own volition, until the pain had almost overwhelmed the pleasure. After all, _Amy_ wouldn’t have known the perfect moment to stop, so it made sense that she would have pushed things slightly further than Sara might be comfortable with.

That was the key in Sara’s mind. If she did things only until she wanted them to stop, made herself wait only until she didn’t want to any more, applied toys that always suited her own comfort levels, then that was unquestionably her own actions. If she wanted it to feel real, if she wanted to believe that Amy might be in the room standing next to her, her soft voice calming and ordering in turns… then she had to go beyond that. She had to do things that she might not always enjoy – the nipple clamps that had made her sob in pain when Amy ordered her to tug on the chain, the ice inserted and left to melt until Sara was squirming and begging to be allowed to remove it, the days when Amy refused to allow her a gentle touch and made her twist and pull and pinch until her nerves tingled in protest.

Some days, like today, Amy could be kind and gentle. But some days she could be cruel – some days Sara wanted someone who might be cruel, who was unpredictable, who was in every possible way _not Sara._

If she held her breath, if she could hear over the hammer of her heart, she could almost feel someone standing next to her, watching her fingers work. Sometimes she thought she could hear Amy’s own soft responses to her reactions – little gasps and murmurs as she watched Sara obey her every word, however reluctantly. Sometimes she could convince herself that there was not just Amy but a whole host of people in there – an audience that Amy had led in once Sara was safely blindfolded and unable to see, an audience who were even now studying every inch of Sara’s naked body. The thought made her skin heat, the flush travelling down her body, wanting to hide from a dozen imaginary pairs of eyes even as Amy bid her to allow them a better look.

With the blindfold on, anyone could be in the room, anyone at all. It was hardly Sara’s fault that, in actual fact, there was only her. She whimpered, her fingers still held between her legs, and turned a deeper red as Amy ordered her to open her legs wider, to grant a better view. She could imagine them too well, the people – probably men, she decided – that Amy had led silently into the room the moment her eyes were covered. She imagined their leers, Amy’s warning glance that said they were to look but not touch, almost feel their breath against her skin as they bent closer.

It was an effort not to open her eyes, and she wished she had used the blindfold as she screwed them more tightly shut. Amy let her move now, her voice calm as she talked Sara through each tiny movement, each one chosen for the benefit of their hidden spectators. The feeling that they were listening made Sara try to muffle her own reaction, and she could imagine Amy smiling at each swallowed gasp and moan.

A breeze blew through the room, or it could have been fingers – cold fingers hovering just above Sara’s body, never quite brushing her skin. Sara shuddered and arched up towards them, begging for the slightest touch. In her mind, Amy’s hand was just out of reach – always tantalisingly above her but close enough to raise the hair on her skin as it passed over her body.

It was too much to stay quiet through. She pleaded – Amy liked to hear her beg and rewarded her, allowing her to delve deeper, granting her far more than the tiny movements she had been allowing, letting her rock against her own hand in increasing desperation. The thought of her audience’s reaction, of their smirks as she gave up any pretence at restraint, was enough to drive her over the edge. She didn’t manage to quiet those last yelps of pleasure before she flopped back, limp against her bed. There was a temptation to roll, to hide her face in her pillow, suddenly shy in the conviction that the room really might be full of people staring at her.

There was a touch, gossamer-light against her shoulder. Only the breeze again – or perhaps a parting kiss, a reward for doing well, for being a good girl.

The room was empty when she opened her eyes. Of course, the room was always empty. It was just that sometimes she wished it wasn’t.


End file.
